


In te, Domine, speravi - In you, Lord, I have hoped

by Haley3



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Especially catholic religion, Gen, Religion, also Orange embodies Thomas' faith here, but he's not too invasive I promise, just to give you the idea, the setting is a cathedral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28921344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haley3/pseuds/Haley3
Summary: In you, Lord, I have hoped; let me never be confounded.In your justice, deliver me. Incline your ear to me. Hasten to rescue me.Be for me a protector God and a house of refuge, so as to accomplish my salvation.Visiting the cathedral is reserved to Sundays. But thoughts are pushing and pulling in Janus’ mind, a constant reminder of what his role is and what he had lost.Because he’s not affected by Virgil’s decision to cut all ties with his former family. Of course he’s not.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dark sides family - Relationship, Deceit | Janus Sanders & Orange Side
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17
Collections: TSS Fanworks Collective





	In te, Domine, speravi - In you, Lord, I have hoped

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: religion will be mentioned a lot, both in a good and in a bad way. But it was pretty evident from the title, wasn’t it?  
> Speaking of that: the title is the first line of Psalm 30. I checked all Psalms to find the right one and this one was particularly good, so here it is :D
> 
> As always, every kind of feedback is greatly appreciated and I will personally love all of you even just for reading it.

_Quoniam defecit in dolore vita mea: et anni mei in gemitibus_

_For my life has fallen into sorrow, and my years into sighing_

Psalm 30:11

Some places never changed.

The cathedral door was twice his height. Solid wood, carved in figures of saints and angels, with wood finished wings and long flaming swords. Too heavy to push with two hands, let alone one. Yet all it took was a light push with his fingertips, and the door slid on its hinges with a gentle rustle, opening just enough to let him pass.

As soon as the door opened, even before the dim interior, it was the sound that reached him. The familiar soft, echo of heavy voices, Gregorian hymns with incomprehensible words.

Pleasant songs.

Nonexistent songs.

Lies.

Solace.

Janus entered. Next to the entrance, the mother-of-pearl stoup was shaped like a shell. The usual perfect circle of clear, harmless water invited him. Only once he got distracted and, without thinking, touched it: the holy water had burned the fabric of the glove and reached his fingers. A little physical pain, a deep mental wound - when he was still interested in the opinion of the Holy Catholic Church.

The aisles were immersed in the usual twilight, under the heavy cross vaults and behind the bronze columns. Behind them, there were wide double lancet windows, embellished with plate traceries on the top. Outside the window, there was only complete darkness.

_"And there was light!" Remus said, jumping up and down in the middle of the central aisle, his trilling voice reaching the high vaults. "Light everywhere! And stained glass! It’ll be full of colors, like a real gay pride!"_

_An orange glance had been enough to make him stop bouncing._

_"It's not a playground," had been the stern warning. "You haven't realized what it will be yet. But you will when you’ll grow up."_

And Remus realized it, in his own way. It was the reason why he only visited the cathedral on Sundays, wearing his most elegant dress, walking down the central aisle arm in arm with Janus, to sit in the front row and follow the ceremony with perfect demeanor.

But Remus' exemplary behavior was never proof of stillness. Creativity was never silent. And his wide eyes proved that Remus was still assimilating new information, capturing details, grasping everything the ceremony offered him, to reuse it in his plane and in the spaces in which he extended his influence.

_"It's so annoying!" True Creativity complained, stepping on the marble floors of his skyscraper. "I am the one who creates the perfect ideas for Thomas!"_

Janus shook his head. No one had ever complained. Not the Faint Ones, whispering in the abyss. Not the personification of Anxiety. Not Thomas, blissfully unaware.

And least of all Controlled Creativity, who strolled along the rich soil of his plane and reaped its creative fruits, without realizing who provided the nourishment for their growth.

Janus walked down the central aisle, the sound of his shoes echoing up to the top of the vaults. The Gregorian chants decreased in intensity, they took on a note of uneasiness. Janus kept looking straight ahead, his gaze focused on the altar covered with a white tablecloth, on its lace edge. In the center of the table, the monstrance shined by its own light: right in the middle, among the golden rays, shone the perfect circle of the Eucharist.

_During communion, Remus had stood up and turned to look at him, a question evident in his eyes. Why didn't Janus stand up like him? Why was he still sitting in his seat?_

_Despite the unspoken question, Janus did not move and kept looking straight ahead, back straight and chest out, the most neutral expression on his face, hands clenched convulsively around his knees._

_Remus was still very, very young. His cheeks were still round. He was still wearing above-knee length pants. None of them were old enough to sleep in total darkness yet. Just the night before, Remus had wanted Janus to read him a story, before tucking him into bed and kissing him goodnight._

_Creativity's curiosity spoke loudly and never passed through the brain. But that day the question did not flow directly to his tongue. That day Remus turned and took communion. He sat back to Janus' right, head bowed, and then stood up and watched the end of the ceremony. Not a question later, not a question thereafter._

He could have asked Remus to adjust the side effects details such as holy water and communion had on him. It wasn’t necessary to be one hundred percent realistic, after all.

But changing something would make the cathedral itself meaningless. The place existed for a reason - for a Side - and those details were nothing more than little annoyances Janus had learned to avoid. And at least the floor didn't burn every time Janus set foot in the cathedral.

_He had screamed, the first time the communion wafer had touched his lips. He had fallen to the ground, spitting out the remains and the floor had become incandescent against the bare skin of his legs, to the point of making him scream. Remus had had to lift him and carry him out, while Janus clung to his shoulders and sobbed against his chest._

He shook his head. Holy water had been a sufficient warning: he would have never been so stupid to try taking communion too. There was a reason if he was the side that represented Thomas' self-preservation, after all.

Janus stopped in the middle of the aisle and sat on the bench. It didn't burn under his gloves. Remus was very accurate when he wanted to, but those little flaws were really appreciated. Probably they were due only to his young age: at the time, Remus knew demons could not touch sacred objects, but not that they could not access sacred places either.

Not that it would change much if Janus couldn’t enter the cathedral. If there was one thing he didn't lack in Mindscape, it was places to go.

“Welcome, Gatekeeper.”

He turned to the side and saw the familiar black figure appear in the central aisle. His footsteps were always too silent to be heard and the black of his robe made it easy for him to hide in the shadows of the church.

“Vicar.” Janus greeted him with a nod.

He looked straight ahead once again. Above the altar, the curve of the apse was covered with tall, stained glass windows, whose pointed ends tickled the high vaults. They were covered in color, bright spots shaped like human figures, saints, scenes from the Bible. Red and orange mixed to represent a blazing fire, so vivid it seemed real. Green extended into blue, branches and leaves stretched skyward. The rich purple of the royal robes absorbed the white light to become even more intense, while the yellow of the crowns expanded it all around.

And the scenes followed one another, enclosed within the narrow frames of each window, passing from one to the other in a single story, different but united to create a palette of bright colors.

“Remus’ most beautiful creation,” the Vicar said. Out of the corner of his eye, Janus caught him approaching, but still no sound of footsteps reached his ears. The Vicar had both hands on his lap, one over the other. Orange cuffs peeped out from the sleeves of his black robe.

“It's not the only one,” Janus replied. “Remus can do much more.”

_"For you," Remus had told him, his arms raised as if to encompass the whole space. What used to be a completely empty plane had become a green meadow, with grass extending beyond the horizon. The only thing in that sea of green was a tree that stood out in the center, loaded with fruit._

_"I already have my own room," Janus had reminded him._

_"I know."_

_"And I can move wherever I want in the Mindscape."_

_"Yeeeep."_

_"So why?"_

_"Just because." Remus shrugged. “A garden of Eden for the snake boy. It sounded good, so I made it. Take it as a gift: you can use it to do whatever you want."_

“Remus is like a diamond in the rough,” his interlocutor said, breaking the memory thread. “Lots of ideas, but little to none attention to detail.”

"You never complained about the details," Janus replied, turning to look at him.

The Vicar had the decency to lower his gaze.

“I didn’t mean it,” he justified himself. “The cathedral is perfect as it is and I wouldn’t change a single thing about it.”

The subtle flavor of the lie filtered through the thick aroma of truth. There was never a clear, polished answer with him. Never just white or black, never just a lie or the truth.

It was still too early for Thomas to understand that.

“Is there something you want to take off your conscience?” The Vicar asked him, his tone much more sugary and gentle. “I'm free, if you want to confess.”

“I’m not here to confess.”

“Oh.” A subtle note of disappointment. “It’s been a while since your last confession.”

The message was supposed to be clear enough, after ten years. But the Vicar was like this: he mastered the art of passive-aggressiveness and kept using it with everyone.

_"You think you’re so much better than the others!" Janus yelled at him, rising to his feet. He grabbed the bench in front of him with both hands, then flung it into the middle of the central aisle._

_The Vicar took a step back, rising to his full height._

_"And you shouldn't even be allowed in this place," he replied in a thunderous voice, one finger raised in a warning tone. With the shadows around and surrounded by deep chanting voices, he looked as tall and terrible as one of the Christ statues._

_"I go wherever I want!" Janus stepped forward, his voice filling the church, his presence pushing into the corners of the plane, vibrating through every single level of Thomas's mind, forcing even the most violent instincts to submit. "No place is hidden from me."_

_Pure hatred dripped from the Vicar's orange eyes._

_"You are nothing but a watchdog," he told him. "And none of us consider you a fath..."_

Janus snapped out of his thoughts, by jerking his head up. He blinked: the bench was standing in its place, not upside down in the middle of the aisle. And the Vicar looked at him curiously, with a sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye.

They would never say those things to each other’s face. Janus had taught his boys this, ever since they started talking. Words were delicate matter. Words had to be measured, arranged, organized.

_"What if I want to say random things?" Remus asked, rolling on the thin grass._

_"You can tell whenever you want, as long as it’s nonsense," Janus explained, sitting cross-legged in front of him._

_"But it doesn't make sense," complained the Vicar, when he was more light and fire than rules of the Holy Church. "Why using words, if they don't make sense?"_

_"You may need to say something stupid or pointless."_

_"When?"_

_"In the future."_

_“Oooh.” Remus's eyes were two large circles of glowing green. “Do you know when, in the future? Do you already know what will happen? Come on, tell us!"_

_"I don't know when," Janus admitted, "But I know you and I know you'll need to say stupid things."_

_"What if..."_

_A shy little voice. Feet rustling against the grass. A curled black figure._

_"What if we get so angry and... and end up saying something we don't want to say?"_

_The small black figure became even smaller, the white of his face hid in the hood he wore._

_Janus_

grabbed his forehead

_leaned forward and reached out to pull the hood, revealing two bright purple eyes that looked back at him._

_"In that case, we’ll have to be very careful," Janus told him. "Because..._

... because words can hurt more than a slap," he murmured without making a sound, one hand pressed against his chest.

He closed his eyes, but the memory did not disappear. He opened them again and all he saw was Virgil. Virgil curled up, still looking at him as if he was the only one with all the answers.

“Are you okay?” The Vicar's voice was tinged with honest concern. “Do you want me to take you back to your room?”

Virgil curled up against his side, rubbing his cheek against Janus’ shoulder like a little cat. Virgil reading all the emergency room rules with wide eyes and memorizing them. Virgil murmuring a song between his lips as he crocheted.

Janus closed his eyes again, but the memories just took a more defined shape, Virgil's smiles became kinder, his voice rang out louder.

_"Janus..."_

_"Can you read me this part?"_

_"Thanks, dad."_

"It's okay," he just said. He looked up at the Vicar and gave him a comforting nod. “Just some thoughts.”

Judging by his gaze, the other knew very well what kind of thoughts tormented Janus. And he didn't accept it. _Why does it still hurt you so much?,_ his eyes asked _. We’re all your children, not just Virgil. Think of me and Remus, who are still here with you. Think of us, who will never be as ungrateful as he is._

He was right and Janus knew it. It wasn't fair to them.

But Virgil kept looking at him from his memories, smiling, crying, holding on to his sleeve, resting his head on his shoulder when they watched a movie together and it was such a _comforting_ weight with his hair tickling Janus’ face, the blue glare of the TV shining on his cheeks and in the purple eyes.

The Vicar's presence was like a wall of orange fire that burned the right side of his body. If Janus was going to open the door and let out his memories about Virgil, he didn't want to do it with another Side present.

“I would like to be alone,” he said, standing up and then bending over the kneeler.

“You could’ve gone to your room.” the Vicar brought his hands behind his back. “But if you have chosen this place, it’s because there’s something here you can’t find anywhere else in the Mindscape.”

Janus put his elbows on the bench and laced his fingers in front of him, squeezing them tightly.

“I would just like an hour of silence,” he said, closing his eyes. “Is that so much to ask?”

“Confession can make you feel better.” The Vicar's voice was kind and soft again. “God has always comforting words for his children...”

“I'm not here to hear lies,” Janus interrupted him. “Lies are my thing.”

In the silence he could feel the Vicar's annoyance.

“The word of the Lord isn’t a lie.”

“It's not pure truth either.” Janus retorted, opening his eyes. “And no, I didn't come here to discuss religion.”

“We could, instead,” the Vicar replied. “Religion isn’t just solace, but also theory and philosophy.”

_God's word is just a bunch of ideas put together by humans. There is no God, there is no word of God and there is nothing of this antic we set up just to make you happy._

Janus pursed his lips, pushing the truth back into his throat. Words were really a delicate matter.

"I just want some silence," he said instead.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Vicar’s figure straighten. He put his hands behind his back once more.

“As you wish, Gatekeeper,” he answered, while turning around. “I'll let you talk to Him.”

He walked down the aisle and this time his footsteps echoed up to the vaults. The gregorian chants had become a muffled murmur, as if they were coming from behind a closed door.

_When Virgil closed his room, only his music passed through the locked door._

_"Virgil," he called, pounding his fists on the floor in a gentle knock. "Open the door for me, my dear."_

Janus shook his head. The Gatekeeper did not need to knock. There was no door, floor or passage that escaped his gaze, no room that was hidden from him. It didn't matter how up it was, how deep it went down or how much another Side tried to lock it. He was the guardian of the doorways and no one could ever shut him out.

Virgil's room was no exception. It was dark and overflowing with terror, a plane that looked out over the blackest abyss of the Unconscious. But it was also Virgil's cradle and shelter and Janus had never found a hostile environment inside, no matter how young and inexperienced Virgil was.

_"We are protectors," Janus explained to him, tucking him into bed. "Our job is to protect Thomas from anything that can harm him."_

_"Remus doesn't seem like much of a protector."_

_There were no other lights in the room, except for the bedside lamp. Once the sheets were neatly arranged around Virgil, Janus sat on the edge of the bed._

_“He’s not a protector,” he explained, “He’s an attacker. Remus is not just Thomas' Creativity: Remus puhes Thomas to seek new stimuli. Remus offers him different challenges and points of view, takes him out of his comfort zone to let him experiment."_

_The yellow light drew a crescent on Virgil's cheek, lit a pin of light in the large pupil. He lowered the sheet, just enough to show his mouth, slightly agape._

_"Really?"_

_"Nope, I'm kidding you," Janus joked, patting him on the tip of the nose. Virgil withdrew, hiding his nose under the sheets. Even without seeing his mouth, a small smile shone in his eyes._

_"The two of us, however," Janus spoke again, "Our job is to protect Thomas from all the dangers that surround him." He put a hand on Virgil's chest. “People can hurt him, both in the mind and in the body. You preserve his body, warn him of the dangers and, when necessary, push him to attack."_

_Virgil lowered the sheet, just enough to show the tip of a proud smile._

_"While I..." Janus brought his other hand to his temple. “I protect Thomas's mind. I keep his sanity in balance, check everything that could hurt him, both inside and outside. And if something or someone threatens to hurt him, I stop it."_

_The Gatekeeper. The Guardian. The God of beginnings and endings. The first, ancestral orders the Mindscape had whispered to him._

_"You check us too, then?" Virgil asked._

_Janus stroked the edge of the sheet._

_"You would never hurt Thomas," he replied. "You only want his own good." The tone became serious. “But the world isn’t a safe place. Human beings are selfish and greedy. Solidarity is not the norm and it’s much easier to find someone who is ready to step on you, rather than someone who’s ready to reach out to you. Thomas may have some friends, but they too would sacrifice him for someone else's salvation."_

_Virgil's eyes were wide and alert. Janus could see his mind working behind those black pupils, understanding others and his own role. Darkness extended from the corners of the room, stretched its blackest tendrils towards the light, threatening to cast everything into shadow._

_Janus put a hand on Virgil's chest again._

_"This is the reason for our existence," he told him, underlining each word. “No one will ever protect Thomas, except us. Nobody will push him to react like we do. Thanks to us, Thomas will learn how to stand up for himself. He will be strong, he will be smart..." he smiled at Virgil, "And he will be brave."_

_Virgil's serious expression dissolved into a small smile. The darkness retreated, curling up in the corners of the room like a pacified cat._

_"What about the Core Sides, then?" Virgil asked him, his voice reduced to a whisper. "Are they protectors like us?"_

_Janus brushed Virgil’s hair off the forehead._

_"They’re a little different," he explained. “They don't have our same roles, because they are the foundation of Thomas's personality. Their job is to support and guide him, until he’s old enough to understand and accept us too."_

Janus opened his eyes. Virgil had always been intrigued by the higher planes of the mind. He had always wanted to see what was in the Subconscious and even higher, in the levels of the Conscious. He still remembered how Virgil pulled his hand, gaping at the vast wheat field of the Subconscious. The ears of corn reached the edge of his shorts but he kept strolling forward, his hoodie lowered for once, looking for the passage that would make him ascend to Thomas’ Conscious.

If only he had been more like Remus, more interested in the lower levels of the Unconscious rather than the higher ones of the Conscious...

_Janus descended rows and rows of steps, down the spiral staircase, to the depths of the Unconscious. And at the bottom of that Hell, trapped in ice from the chest down like Satan in the Divine Comedy, there was who was once just Anxiety._

_Delirium._

_And the Side screamed and scratched the ice, demanding to be pulled out. But the only one who could hear him was the same Guardian who had locked him in his prison._

Janus clenched his fingers. His foreseen ability was never perfect and visions of the future always changed, changing as the conditions of the future itself changed as well.

But that vision had never changed. It was exactly the same as when he was six, thirteen, twenty-one and twenty-nine. Years passed and that future never took another shape: if Virgil had been interested in the Unconscious, that would have been his end.

And so Janus had to watch him take an interest in the Conscious, insisting on visiting it, on introducing himself to Thomas, because if Thomas had seen him, Thomas would have understood. Because if Thomas had seen him, Thomas would have grown up.

_"Now I understand," Thomas told him. “You were born to protect me. And I am absolutely grateful for this."_

Except Thomas never told him that. Thomas had always hated that black-clad Side, ever since he first appeared during his high school test. For years Thomas had had nothing but words of disgust and frustration towards Virgil.

_"Aaaah, Anxiety!"_

_"Why are you here?!"_

_"Leave me alone! I have no reason to be anxious!"_

_"Stop coming back!"_

And the same was for the Core Sides: too immature, too busy working for themselves, to understand Virgil.

_Virgil was crying and every tear was a blade stuck in his heart._

_"Why?" He asked in frustration, angrily wiping his eyes as he kicked the bed. "Why doesn't Thomas understand that this is my job?_ "

Virgil didn't deserve to suffer like this. He, who worked harder than all others. Who never slept to keep an eye on Thomas, because anything could have hurt him. Who was the first to appear, every time Thomas visited some new place and checked all the access and escape routes before any other Side. He, who always had an escape plan ready and an attack plan he never used.

_"Stop, Virgil." Janus spread his arms. “Stop trying to talk to Thomas. Stop seeking contact with him. Stay here with me, safe and sound. Isn't that what you want?"_

_Virgil nodded and pushed his head against Janus’ chest._

_"I've always trusted you," he said, but his voice was angry. And Virgil was not in his arms, but on the others side of the room. "And your words are just lies."_

_"Do you think this makes sense?" Janus told him and the room was not Virgil's room, nor his own, but it was one in the Conscious plane. “Do you really think you can go away and settle here? You are Anxiety. This isn’t your place. And I will stop you from doing it."_

Janus blinked several times. Was there really a discussion? Had it really gone that way?

_"Explain to me, then." Janus says, striding behind Virgil. Virgil did not turn, but continued to walk along the planes of the Subconscious in long strides, directed towards the Conscious. “Tell me what I'm doing wrong. Tell me what I’ve done wrong."_

Maybe that was how things had turned out. Maybe that wasn't like that at all. Maybe Virgil hadn't even had the courage to talk to him. Maybe it was Janus who didn't have the courage.

All he knew was that, no matter what was a lie and what was true, his heart was still aching and bleeding, still pouring love and hate in equal parts, filling his throat until his breath broke.

_“Hey, dad,” a still young Virgil called him, his eyes circled by the first clumsy attempts at makeup, “Shall we go? Mass is about to start."_

Janus pressed his palms against his closed lids, but all he saw was Virgil seated to his left, his eyes turned towards the altar, repeating the consoling words of the prayers. The ceremony calmed him, relaxed his shoulders, took away the constant weight of fear and change: identical for two thousand years, it was impossible that Mass took him by surprise.

That was part of their routine too. Like long walks, lessons and exercises. Creativity had his creative outburst sessions, the Vicar had Sunday masses and sacred volumes. Anxiety had scenarios Remus created for him, in which fight and flight alternated and finding the solution was a matter of mind and brute strength.

_"He didn't come for Monday practice," Remus said, hanging upside down on the branch. His arms were swinging in midair. "And he also skipped today's." His tone was sulky. "He's only moved a few floors up, but he's acting like he doesn't know us anymore."_

He had stopped talking to them. He had stopped hanging out with them. Virgil started to spend his time in Roman's controlled creativity, listening to Logan's flawless logic and Patton's cursed altruism, while still interfering in Thomas's life every minute.

_"I don't care," Janus replied, from a higher branch. "He can do whatever he wants."_

It wasn't true.

_"I know," Janus replied, from a higher branch. “And that's not fair. We are his family."_

That wasn't true either. Or rather, it was half true: they were his family, of course. But it was more personal.

_“I’m his father. And he’s my son."_

Janus lowered his hands. From behind his fingers he noticed the vivid colors of the windows, even brighter in the dim light of the church. Gregorian chants were a pleasant indistinct echo.

_“I'll let you talk to Him.”_

He looked at the stained-glass windows, ran his eyes through the colorful scenes that shone with their own light. There was nothing else in the church. There was no God hovering over their heads and distributing love. There was no benevolent figure who controlled everything from above and worked only for good.

And, even if there had been one, it would never have helped him. Him, the Great Enemy, who entered the church with his head held high, who seduced with sin and deceived with infinite lies. He who was first of all Deceit and only then self-preservation.

 _I know you don't exist,_ Janus thought _. This cathedral is nothing more than a huge masquerade we set up to please the Vicar._

As expected, no God descended into the cathedral to protest and no angel appeared above the altar, brandishing a fiery sword at him. His only interlocutor was the church itself, the distant chants, the mesmerizing colors.

 _What was my mistake with Virgil?_ He asked to no one in particular. _Was I wrong from the start?_

_There had never been a life form on the shore of the Unconscious since Thomas was born. The black sea had never bought anything ashore, except black waves that met the line of the beach and retreated, leaving the sand of a slightly darker gray._

_Still, that wasn't enough to let his guard down. Janus may not yet have reached ten, but the first two years of his life were enough to understand what his role was and that the Mindscape wasn't all smiles and green meadows._

_With the shepherd’s crook held in his right, Janus took his usual patrol. Like every time, he didn't expect to find anything._

_But unlike the other times, this time he found something._

_From a distance it was only a black spot, a blurry mass of rags curled up in the sand. Only when he got closer those black rags turned out to be clothes. And, only when he was less than a meter away, the clothes moved and a face emerged from the black._

_A pale, round face, identical to Thomas' own face. Brown hair, identical to Thomas'. Black tears streaming down his cheeks. And deep purple eyes._

_A new Side._

Janus should have kept it in the Unconscious, away from Thomas' awareness, as Thomas himself had ordered him through the Unconscious’ whispers. It was his job as the Guardian. He didn’t have any other order to follow.

But those eyes had looked at him, wide and intense, vibrant purple in the gray and black that surrounded them. They were bewildered, confused and oblivious. Innocent eyes looking out for the first time to a world of which that new Side knew nothing.

And he would have to live in a prison, never knowing smiles or freedom but only silence, chains and the four walls of the plane that would become his room. He could never appreciate the vastness of the Subconscious, look out to the Conscious, or shake hands with the other Sides and talk to them. And Janus would have been his unwavering Guardian, his only cold visitor.

Did he really want to give him that kind of life? Did he really want his first experiences about life to be loneliness and the cold gaze of a jailer?

So Janus knelt on the sand and, for the first time, opened his arms to welcome Virgil.

 _Was that it?_ Janus asked, turning his gaze to the stained glass windows and the nonexistent God. _Was that my first mistake? Love him like a son, even if no one asked me to do it?_

_Remus had pulled Virgil on the table and they were dancing like crazy, to the noisy tunes they adored so much. Janus had moved onto the sofa, the glass of wine secured between his fingers._

_It was rare to see Virgil so enthusiastic while singing with Remus, jumping so hard to make the table legs shake, an empty bottle used as a microphone. Yet it was really happening and Virgil sang proudly, kicking chairs down, loud and free as he has always should be._

_And that sight was enough to make something soft turn in Janus' chest. Something that poured a nice warmth inside him and told him that yes, the choice he had made on that beach a long time ago had been the right one._

He had always left Virgil free. He had explained to him what his limits and spaces were and guided him in his path. He had taught him his role and told him not to show himself to Thomas too soon.

Was that also a mistake? To give him too much freedom?

_Virgil let himself fall on the fresh grass, a black stain among the light blue petals of forget-me-nots._

_"What are you reading?"_

_"Rousseau," Janus replied. "_ Emile, or On Education _.”_

_"Isn't that the guy Thomas studied at school today?" Virgil asked him. He picked a small forget-me-not and brought the golden corolla to his nose._

_"That’s him."_

_"And why are you reading his works?" Virgil looked at him from bottom up. “He said people are all good and nice. What a loser."_

_"Rousseau was... too optimistic, sure," Janus agreed. "But he was also a good pedagogue and that's why I’m reading_ Emile _."_

_Virgil lowered the flower._

_“Seriously? Is it still for the challenge between me and Remus?"_

_"Oh no, of course not," Janus replied. “Me reading pedagogy has nothing to do with the fact that, because of your challenge, you blew half of Remus's room and your kitchen caught fire. What makes you think that?"_

_Virgil threw the flower away._

_"How can I bribe you?"_

_"Aww, that's cute," Janus smiled, turning over a page, "You think you can bribe me."_

_"I’ll babysit Remus for two weeks."_

_"Sure, because when you’re together you’re absolutely calm and peaceful."_

_"I'll clean your room."_

_"You should apply this to your room."_

_“I'll clean mine then. And Remus's too."_

_"Wow, Virgil, I didn't know my punishments scared you this much."_

_"I’ll get Thomas to lie more."_

_"Behave, Virgil," Janus warned him. "Leave Thomas out of this."_

_Virgil replied with a small snort, but he didn't object._

_"I’ll do whatever you want, for a whole day," he suggested again. "So you can take some free time for yourself and take a hot bath or whatever."_

_"Nice offer." Janus smiled, not taking his eyes off the book. "Ask me again during your detention and maybe I'll shorten it."_

_"During?" Virgil complained. "How long will you want to keep us in detention?"_

_"Oh I don’t know." he replied, with a large, sly smile. "It depends."_

_Virgil rolled until he was face down and let out a groan of protest._

Everything was perfect. They lived in their own space, away from the Conscious and the Core Sides. They had freedom and limitations, good quality time and Virgil had also a privileged access to Thomas.

What had he done wrong?

Janus looked at the stained glass windows, accusing them with his eyes.

 _Is that a punishment for me?_ He asked. _Is it to punish me, that you let me find Virgil and make him go away?_

He wanted to get up and shout it out. He could have done it, after all. He could have burned the windows with the blink of an eye. He could have squeezed the whole floor between his fingers and got rid of that stupid cathedral. If the Vicar had protested, he could have silenced him, just as he silenced any Side. He was self-preservation, Thomas's watchdog, the executor of every sentence, the unwavering jailer. He could do everything, in Thomas's mind.

He could stop Virgil too. Root him to the spot and never let him free again. He could push him down, through the mind’s planes, to lock him in his room and seal the entire space. He could stop him and oh, how willingly he would’ve done that. Even if that would’ve forced Virgil to become Delirium, even if Janus had to lock him up in the abysses of the Unconscious, despite everything, just to not lose him, to still have him...

_Virgil walked away and no, it didn't affect Janus. Obviously it didn't affect him. It could never affect him, not while he moved between floors. He was the Gatekeeper, he was the Lord of beginnings and endings. He was the rock his children clung to, the voice that listened to the Faint Ones but didn’t fall for their flattery, the Side who ruled with steady hand over the Unconscious. Virgil cutting ties with him was not something that affected him the slightest._

_And Janus didn't let it affect him. He kept his perfect demeanor, hands clenched in his lap, capelet straight over his shoulders, hat pulled on his head, a serious gaze focused on something in front of him. Self-preservation never gave in to weakness. Self-preservation was a force to be reckoned with. Unconscious forces could constantly try to overcome it, but nothing could shake self-preservation. Let alone a Side that turned his back on him, after twenty-two years of life together._

_A Side that Janus only had to keep in the Unconscious. That was his only order, that was the relationship they should have had: prisoner and jailer. Nothing else._

_And Janus remained still, impassive, watching Virgil walk away without adding a single word. Only when Virgil disappeared, Janus turned on his heel and left as well._

_He went to his room. The only place in the entire Mindscape that was truly sealed. His vault, his private oasis, where not even the Faint Ones’ voices could enter and nothing could go out without his permission._

_Only there, in the most secured place of the Mindscape, Janus allowed himself to cry._

He could have left the church. He could have gone back to his room and let himself be fragile, once again, as if the millions of times before didn't matter.

_“Iif you have chosen this place, it’s because there’s something here you can’t find anywhere else in the Mindscape.”_

But he had chosen the cathedral. And not, as the Vicar implied, to seek consolation and easy lies from the ever perfect Holy Church.

Janu untied his hands and clung to the edge of the kneeler. Wood didn't burn his gloves, no deadly heat reached his fingers. And yet he felt small. A young Side, still too young to wear long trousers, but old enough to understand that nobody would give him anything for free.

_I found that son and raised him._

Virgil who looked at him with huge, bewildered purple eyes, lost in the gray beach. Virgil crying because the story was " _so sad, but also so real_ " and wanted more. Virgil smiling, hiding his face under the sheet.

_I loved him, knowing which were the only roads he could take._

Virgil bowing his head during the ceremony, Virgil listening to music with Remus, Virgil walking in the Subconscious with steady gaze, pointing to the Conscious.

_And I lost him when he made his choice._

_"I love you, Janus," Virgil told him, with tears streaming down his face._

_"I hate you, Janus," Virgil told him, pointing the finger at him._

Janus bent his head down, feeling even smaller under the windows’ judging gaze. He let go of the kneeler and put his hands together again, a light touching of his fingertips, before intertwining his hands.

_I know there’s no God and there’s nothing here. But if there is something, whatever it is..._

Janus beating his fists against the wall and screaming, pouring his frustration into tears, every word and scream secured in the perfect shelter of his room. He took off the daggers with which Virgil had pierced his heart, allowed himself to spill his pain in solitude, and then put the blades back into the wounds to go back to work.

_Please give me my son back._

Janus lowered his head against his fingers, murmuring never forgotten prayers.

_“In you, Lord, I have hoped; let me never be confounded.”_

_They walked on the shore, Janus with one hand in the crook of Virgil's elbow, Virgil with his hands buried in the pockets._

_"Seriously, I didn’t expect Logan to be so civil with me," Virgil said. “I thought he disliked me, as he always acts like a snob. Instead he even complimented me for the discussion, even though I hissed at him."_

_"Did you really hiss at him?"_

_"At first. Then I insulted his non-existent mother."_

_“M-mh, what a good plan. I wonder why Thomas didn't listen to you."_

_"Cut me some slack, will you? It's not easy to argue with the Core Morons all the time."_

_Janus licked his lips before letting out some cautious words._

_"You don't have to show up every time."_

_"I can't leave them by themselves either." Virgil shrugged. “Those three idiots would convince Thomas to jump off a bridge, just to do a good deed. They need someone to give them a reality check."_

_Virgil turned to look at him, one corner of his mouth raised in a smile, purple eyes glistening under the black makeup._

_"Next time, I might put in a good word for you with Thomas," he joked._

_Janus replied, nudging him with his shoulder._

_"I won't need your recommendation."_

_"Of course not," Virgil replied. "Sanders will surely see you as the most trustworthy of us all and instantly figure out what kind of guy you are." He rolled his eyes. "Naive as he is, it won’t surprise me if the first thing he does is giving you some stupid nickname, like the ones Roman gives me."_

_Janus raised his other hand, pretending to examine his nails._

_"You know, my hand may slip now and then..." and he closed his fingers in a fist, mimicking the action with which he silenced every Sides._

_“For Princey? Nah, it's not worth it." A corner of Virgil's mouth rose into a smile. “He doesn't like me and I don't like him. We both know that and it’s okay. Sure, sometimes we can get along - like about Disney movies. But only because he's a total Disney nerd."_

_"What about Morality?"_

_"Him?" Virgil shrugged again. “He's a cool guy. He makes a lot of jokes - some are even clever, but I doubt he realizes it. And he's a very cheerful guy, always in a good mood." His smile softened. “Maybe the discussion isn't very happy, but he always tries to find something positive about it and doesn’t let it get too dark. He loves people a lot - really, a lot - and all he wants is for Thomas to be nice to everyone." He turned to Janus. "Sometimes it's a little overwhelming to be with him, but not in a bad way."_

_Even though his hand was resting on Virgil’s arm, for a moment Janus felt as if that arm had already slipped away._

_His heart clenched, letting affection overflow with such strength, to make his legs go weak. He put his other hand on Virgil's arm, who turned to look at him. His eyes were still the most intense color, on that beach dominated by gray and black._

_"Anyway, I don't care how much they hate - or don't hate me," Virgil said, shrugging once more. “I am a protector. My job is to defend Thomas from any harm and that’s what I’ll keep doing - even if Thomas doesn't like it." He smiled. “I may spend time with them, but that doesn’t mean I’m forgetting where I come from.”_

_Janus lifted a hand to Virgil’s face, brushing the hair off his eyes, as he had done millions of times during their twenty years of life together._

_"I know you won’t," he told him. "I know."_


End file.
